the gift of science

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fnUkpOSNvs8

Prom!

Well, as everyone knows this weekend was prom. As I sit here ruminating over what occurred, I cannot help but think how spectacular it is that we (seniors) only have roughly one month left. Luckily, I am one of those people who does not have any compunction over what occurred and feel my evening was successful and responsibly fun. I was elated and ready to experience my last dance as a high school student . Especially with the knowledge that the end is near. Once I was ready, the evening began with the traditional group pictures, in my opinion the worst part. I was indulgent to the other parents, their forceful demands to smile and stand up straight, the stair one up not where I am. I have to admit though, in spite of them, I sneaked in a few silly faces. I simply wanted to be quiescent about the entire picture affair, but soon my frustration was brought forth and seen on my face. After pictures we were off to dinner at Martini's. It was decent, but being a vegetarian, I did not have many options for what to order. Although, that is irrelevant to the night as a whole. Everyone looked august that night, and people were not afraid to hand out compliments frequently. Although our group was eclectic and not everyone was friends with one another  no one was callous which was nice and therefore made for a better atmosphere. Dinner was lovely and the food decent. After we attempted to get jeni's  but the line was out the door and then some. When we arrived at the dance my date and I had a tacit understanding of what was to come. What I mean is, that the rest of the evening would be spent dancing, getting water and not judging one another for the sweaty mess we each would become. Unfortunately, the smell of the dance area was quite acrid and one had to learn to put up a mental block and simply not notice. Prom 2012 was a success, the evening was fun and I had a wonderful time.

The Stentorian Child

He is stentorian, just like any boy should be. He runs about, being dirty and making messes. His mother is exhausted. She is constantly giving ultimatums to the child to try and get him to cooperate. The child is often found beseting his father but considering the boy is so infinitesmal he is innocuous. Even when his parents have guests it is impossible for the boy to have any decorum. The mother often thinks of sedating the child. He is not an asset, yet the mother finds herself loving him. He is often exuberant, especially when learning new things. Occassionally he is even charming. He is a facsimile of his father, always on the move. He is adored and sometimes despised at the same time. He is a normal little boy.

Exploration of the past

Today's overall architecture and buildings bore me. I found them to be superficial and lacking in creativity. Now Kirkbride buildings are exemplary and to fathom what the meaning behind his genius structure one must research, which is what I did. Few know what i enjoy doing when bored and or given the opportunity, well I like to find abandoned buildings and explore them. Yes, they appear to be guile and some of his structures seem to cast a dark shadow over the area in which they reside. Many misconstrue his purpose. Yet, if one were to only read about him and what he set out to do one would understand why his buildings, for the mentally insane, are so beautiful in such a dark way. Personally I find them quite placid. The front of the building protrudes into the grounds and the rest falls behind in an almost zig-zag pattern. The front of his buildings can come off as a bit stark, but they are usually so detailed and stunning that such a detail can be overlooked. Most people know that health care for the mentally disturbed was not good and many were mistreated and most of the homes were in horrible condition. Kirkbride attempted to help matters by building glorious, giant, mansion like hospitals. His buildings were designed to allow the patient sufficient fresh air and sunshine because he felt that this is what a disturbed person needed. Unfortunately his buildings did not stay with such a goal in mind and as they become more crowded with those who needed to be hospitalized they grew to be in a disreputable state. Many over the years were torn down, unfortunately, including the Columbus state hospital. I think it is sad that we let such beautiful work and history get torn to the ground. Organizations with integrity do exist and they are trying to preserve the few that remain. Some now house tours and hold overnight stays for those interested in ghosts or staying in such a work of art. Still, so many go unnoticed and are crumbling to the ground.

http://www.kirkbridebuildings.com/

Ugly people can't come

What should one do when met with criticism or insult? What should one do when called ugly? Picture it: you are in a room with your friends, a certain person not in the room gets mentioned and then things said person said get brought up until, unfortunately, you learn of what said person said. They insulted you, called you ugly, said you were unworthy. What to do? Of course the truth came out at such an inopportune time, you are with friends, freaking out is not an option. Cry? I think not! Letting them see your weakness is unacceptable. One must stay stately in this situation. Knowing that this comment would upset anyone "friends" try to bring you solace, but it does not help. The damage is done. It was explicit and it extirpated you. "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me" is a load of crap. Words hurt, they get inside the mind and remind you of your many imperfections. The fact that your so called friend even let you know of such behind the back talk, well, it almost seems like a premeditated slap to the face. I can see it now. "Hahahaha. I am worthy, you are not you ugly brute!" High school, filled with frivolous crap and shallow people ready to kick you straight in the mouth. Anyway, back to the moment. As your "friend" sits there, with what looks like a malicious grin, telling you of your ugliness, you realize you cannot lose control. You find the strength to suppress the anger and sorrow rising up within the throat. Put on a stolid face and utter the most common and false statement, "I'm fine." They are almost officious with the amount of sucking up. Said friend tries to play it off like she didn't mean to hurt you, she udders "I am sorry" and gives you a hug. All the while you think "wow, how full of crap."  In this moment, you are ominous, knowing exactly what her intentions were. You just want to grow rampant, and if there were not consequences, you would probably march to the person's house who insulted you and clock him right in the mouth. So what to do when in this situation, well you have two choices: remain dignified and simply brush off your shoulders and forget about it or go out throwing punches.

Earth's Demise

"I wonder what this one will be like"
Another chopped and sawed
How easily they fall
"We were warned"
The consequences are evident
"Jump on the bandwagon"

"Hypochondriac update brought to you by fear"
"Satan jacked" us of our senses
"When you absolutely want to freak out your friends"
Stand up for something
"Immediately thrown off course" by those in power

Can't achieve
"Its not good being poor"
Population is screaming
Powerful people aren't hearing
The incompetent run the show

Earth is crying
Trees are dying
"Somethings gone terribly wrong"
Can we bounce back? Reach salvation
The ever impending doom
Suffocation from lack of oxygen
"Can't divide us"
We are already dead

*Quotes taken from the Daily Show

Sad man on a dying Earth

He is affiliated with an organization. Which one you may ask, well all of them. He is obsessed with the attainment of information. His Saturdays are not spent nonchalantly in front of a television. They are spent on the battle lines of causes, one after another. He is omniscient to the problems facing today's world. A panacea for the problems of today does not exist and therefore the destruction rages on. He is scrupulous when addressing such delicate issues. People do not want to hear the truth and unless delivered correctly, they will not believe it either. The Earth is dying, being destroyed slowly, suffering in silence. People are too supercilious to believe it could be there fault and their actions are not venial. Today's world, although trying, is failing at saving what they have lost. While they attempt to do a "green movement" the other part of the population is indulging in shows such as ax men. The stupidity amongst men is uncanny and the inability to work together for a common cause is pathetic. The man of this story, with his cogent pleas for help, is unheard and beginning to feel that it is time to bequeath his stressful cause to someone else. He is tired and sad, the Earth is dying, people are dying. It may not end tomorrow, next year, or even in the next 100 years, but it will. On the path humanity is taking, they are speeding up their ever impending doom. The man of this tale is hopeless and to be frank, done trying to help those who do not want it.

The Vigilante of Venice

As he walked through the alleyways of Venice he was aware of the impending doom. His adversary was not far behind and he clutched the blade that would delete him from this world. His name is Antonio. He is a vigilante to the poor and a criminal to the rich. The urbane man following him is none other than the notorious assassin, Amadeo. Antonio is not a craven man, he is willingly to take risks, even if it means he will meet his demise. Amadeo has a reputation that sends people fleeing back into their homes. Amadeo is able to coerce people into doing whatever he needs. In order to not involve his friends or family Antonio has been able to alienate them and by doing so he has insured their survival and has stopped Amadeo from harassing them. Exhilarated and pumped full of adrenaline he makes his way down the street and into a small alcove. There, he waits from his opponent and his death. It is not an artifice, him waiting there, patiently. He is simply ready. He knew that the day would come when his actions caught up with him. Although he had helped a lot of people, he did not help the "right" people, the people of power. Now, they set out to kill him. As he sat there, waiting, he could not help but think of his past. He saw the light reflect off the blade and then felt the cold steel slip into his heart. He died, a hero to the poor and a menace to the rich.  

Old Man Eugene

He is belligerent and cannot help but yell at the passing children. He is 65, retired and bitter. It is not longer feasible for him to leave his house, especially after he broke his hip.  Eugene is not married and has so much time on his hands that usually he spends it sleeping or meticulously planning how to make the neighborhood kids miserable. His constant nostalgia continues to make him depressed and resent choices he once made. Life is no longer in his control and as he grows older he realizes the opportunities he missed. He sits on his porch, sipping coffee and grimacing at those who pass by, jealous of their youth and overall benevolent manner. Although he constantly yells at the neighborhood kids, like any old man should, the children seem to be impervious to his insults. This fact only angers him more. He scrutinizes their every move, unable to trust anyone younger than himself. Even girl scouts who are simply trying to sell some cookies are not to be trusted. He is the quintessence of old men. Everyone is averse to him; his house is avoided like the black plaque. The old man lives his days alone.

The ambidextrous artist

She was a young girl, bereft of any friends and simply floating through school. Attempting to get it over with as quickly as possible. She warily walked the halls hoping to not be noticed, to simply be allowed to glide through. Being invisible one is able to get away with hearing and seeing more than most. She could not help but gape at the behavior of her peers. Most were so unkempt , not even caring enough about their own personal appearance to put on real pants. Art was her only saving grace. She was quite ambidextrous and enjoyed working with the pliable material of the art world. After some time she found herself unable to create up new ideas or grab any inspiration from the outside world, she was unable to make art. Her alteration into a more tentative nature began to worry her teacher. Her teacher reiterated time and time again about the importance of just going in and grabbing an idea, to not falter or stop because picking back up the momentum would be difficult. Soon she began to walk at night and go for long drives to pick up any intimation of what she should create next. Finally, she had it and as she deployed her materials she set out to create once more.

Impactful Event

Gahanna is not the place I started out at. As a child I began my life on the west side of Columbus and slowly progressed east to finally end my adolescence in Gahanna. I lived in Hilliard the longest but that too came to an end and I found myself on the move once more. Three school districts, but with each came several moves in between. Moves have impacted my life in many ways and allowed me to be prepared for the unexpected in life.

            My first home was a small green house with a lovely yard and a park across the street. It was a grand first house for any family. My parents were young and divorced when I was two. Thus the moving began. My mother moved out, my first move was into my grandparent’s house and after that, it did not stop. My dad stayed in the small green house for several years while my mother went from my grandparents to a friend’s house, and then we lived with her brother and finally into an apartment of our own. While this occurred my dad moved in with his brother, back into the house and then into an apartment. While on the west side of Columbus I attended a small, private catholic school.

 The moves while I was young were few and most lost in some distant memory. As I entered elementary school I experienced my first school district transfer and I found myself in a town called Hilliard. My mom moved into the district to get away from the west side and as this occurred my father was progressing further away as well, into Lewis Center. While in Hilliard my mom and I moved three times. We ended up in a perfect home and from second to seventh grade we were content in Hilliard. The moving with my dad continued until finally I would have my last with him, the move where I left. In seventh grade I took all my belongings and moved in full time with my mother. Hilliard was a nice place to live, but I would not say we were happy.

After several years I found myself boxing my room once more and soon we were going east and ended up in Gahanna. The reason of the move, although complicated, is a happy one because I ended up in Gahanna. I was going to be in eighth grade and starting a new school district, although I had experience, was nerve racking. Since I moved here I have only lived in two homes and I find myself much happier here than in Hilliard.

Each time I moved it was a clean start and I way to really look and see what I truly cared about. Objects have been lost or had to be given up but in the end I have appreciated the experience. I feel that every child should have to move, it teaches a person so much and every move is different from the last. It is exciting to get a new house, make a room your own. I feel that although I missed out on having just one house with all my memories in it I have gained the knowledge on how to adapt and expect the unexpected. Moving roughly fourteen times one gets use to boxing up their belongings and making a new home. I personally do not mind having moved, these events which all correspond with one another have made me a stronger and a better rounded person.